Just Like Old Times
by C.L.Cullen
Summary: A long hunt, no sleep, and a pesky cold. Dean's sick. Sam to the rescue.


Just Like Old Times

_I don't own Supernatural, and I don't own any of the characters. This is purely for the fun of reading. Please be kind, this is my first attempt at any sort of story for others to read! Sorry if it's out of character._

Dean wasn't surprised he felt like crap. He'd been expecting it really. He and Sam had hit a particularly difficult case involving an angry spirit who was haunting a children's center and they hadn't had much more than two hours of sleep each night for a week and a half. They'd looked like walking zombies for the better part of the week because of that. Dark circles around their eyes, pale complexions... Yep they were the picture of beauty on this hunt. The case was over now though; they'd managed to get rid of the spirit, with relatively insignificant injuries to speak of. Sam suffered from a pretty bad toss about from the spirit, and Dean himself had a few cuts and bruises, but nothing life threatening. Sam was asleep now, Dean figured he deserved a good rest; it'd been a while since he had hunted. Surely this one had really taken its toll on Sam, especially since it had taken its toll on him, and he was a seasoned hunter.

Dean glanced at Sam in the next bed, he was sprawled out on his back, limbs stretched out and hanging over the edges of the mattress. He really was quite large Dean thought absently to himself, he grew while at Stanford. Dean would never admit it out loud but he liked having someone like Sam to watch his back during a hunt. He was huge, he had good height on Dean, and if you pissed him off... Well, he was huge. Huge and angry don't always mix well. When they had gotten back from the hunt Dean had checked Sam over for any serious injuries, he had been thrown up against a rather hard metal door after all, but wanting to avoid any 'chick flick moments' Dean had outright refused Sam checking him over. Dean knew that if Sam checked him over he would notice what Dean had been so carefully hiding the past few days. He didn't exactly want Sam to go all mother hen on him; he wasn't good with the whole touchy feely emotions.

Once Sam had fallen asleep, which hadn't taken long, Dean finally had a chance to sit down and assess his injuries properly, he knew he had at least one large cut on his side but he figured that was the worst of it. He patched himself up quickly; the cut wasn't as bad as he'd thought. Once he was done and he sat down, all the adrenaline that was pumping through his veins started to ebb away. He quickly realized just how bad he felt. He wasn't badly injured thankfully, he just felt really shitty. It didn't help much that before the hunt had even started he wasn't feeling that great. He had suspected the start of a cold, but he'd tried his best to hide it from Sam. Sam didn't have to worry himself with his brother's health, not when they had more important stuff to get sorted out. He had thought the cold would clear up in a few days. Unfortunately, now he knew he had been wrong. His head ached badly, all his muscles were stiff and sore, he had a layer of sweat on his skin and he was cold. His throat hurt, his side hurt, everything hurt. The worst of it though, was the sinking feeling of nausea, the last thing he wanted, especially now, was to be puking his guts out. Sinking down onto the bed he pulled the covers up to his neck not even bothering to take off his jeans or flannel shirt. As soon as his aching head hit the pillow and he'd curled into a comfortable position he was asleep.

When Sam awoke it was 9 in the morning. They'd gotten back from the hunt the night before at 6. He'd been asleep for 15 hours. Rubbing his eyes to try and wake himself up properly Sam threw the blankets off himself. He glanced towards Dean's bed, he wasn't there. Sam figured he'd gone out to breakfast most likely; there was a waitress at the restaurant down the road who Dean had been eyeing up all week. Sighing to himself he stood up stretching out his muscles. Being thrown against a huge ass metal door hadn't been very nice to them. He figured a nice hot shower would do them good and was just getting his towel from his bag when he heard the sound.

Retching.

The immediate thought that entered his head was Dean. He hadn't looked so great the last few days. He'd tried to hide it but Sam knew his brother too well for him to be able to hide it. He had seen the way his brother would sometimes turn to cough into his sleeve, trying to muffle the sound but failing miserably. He'd seen the way Dean fell to his bed in sheer exhaustion when they finally got back from doing hours of research, he had seen the look in Dean's eye, the one he always had when something wasn't quite right. He cursed himself for not making them take a break, to get much needed sleep before they continued. He cursed himself for not waiting until his brother was better. He should have known Dean would push himself to the edge, run himself to the ground. He was forced out of his thoughts when he heard another bout of vomiting coming from the bathroom. Throwing his towel to the ground he made his way to the bathroom door.

"Dean?" he knocked lightly on the door, "Dean, you okay man?" he was worried; Dean never did anything half way, getting sick least of all. When Dean was sick, he was in it for the long haul, be it a cold or the flu. Getting no response he tried again. "Dean, can I get you some water maybe?" He waited a minute again yet still receiving to answer. "Dean I'm coming in okay?" Worry was evident in his voice, and it worried him more that no protest was coming from his older brother, insisting that he was fine.

When Sam opened the door the scene in front of him scared him. Dean was slumped on the floor, eyes barely open and he was shaking. Badly. If Sam hadn't known better he might have thought his brother was having a mild seizure he was shaking so much. His teeth clattered and his eyes were glazed over and watery, it was obvious even from the door way that he had a fever. His face was pale with a ting of green, and his breathing was laboured.

"Oh my God, Dean!" Sam was on the floor next to his sick brother in no time, one hand resting on Dean's shoulder in an effort to ease the shaking, the other finding a pulse on his neck. He found it no problem, although it was thready and rapid. His skin was hot to the touch, he had a layer of sweat on him, and little beads were dripping down from him hairline. Sam ran a hand through Dean's sweat soaked hair thinking desperately of what to do. Thinking quickly he went to grab a blanket off his bed, bringing it to the bath room he covered Dean, yet another attempt to stop the shaking. It seemed to help, the spasmic shaking slowly faded into shivering. Dean seemed dimly aware of what was going on, moans escaping his lips from time to time. He'd pinch his eyes closed occasionally too, Sam figured he must have one hell of a headache. A pillow would probably do him good, he didn't think Dean would be too fond of moving just yet. After retrieving one from the bed he slowly lifted Dean's head to position the pillow well. He was awarded with a rather loud groan of pain for that action.

"Dean, Dean? Can you hear me?" Dean didn't respond; he just lay there slumped on the floor like a rag doll, teeth clattering still, and sweating. "Dean?" Sam could feel his panic rising quickly; he hadn't seen Dean this bad ever. He knew from childhood that when Dean got sick, he got sick. He'd landed in the hospital a few times, vomiting himself to dehydration, but never, never had Dean been like this.

"S'my?"

Dean's voice was so quiet and harsh that Sam almost hadn't heard him. Sam leaned down closer to his brother in an effort to hear well. "Yeah, Dean, it's me. How are you doing?" What a dumb question to ask! Of course he wasn't doing good, he was freaking lying on a bathroom floor.

"Not fe'lin s' g'd."

Dean's bad slurring worried Sam even more, if that was possible at this point.

'Yeah, I can see that, do you think you're going to be sick again? We should really get you back into a bed, lying on the floor can't be doing you any good." Dean muttered something that Sam couldn't quite catch but it must have been something along the lines of 'I'm fine' because as soon as he'd said it Dean was attempting to push himself upright. His arms shook badly under the weight of the rest of his body; they would've given out if not for Sam's protective grasp.

"Maybe not yet Dean, we'll get you moved in a little while, is there anything you need? You know, to make yourself more comfortable?"

Dean started to shake his head but quickly changed his mind, "Mm fine S'my, le'me alone."

"Dude, you're far from fine." Dean seemed to want to say something to protest, but all that came from his mouth was a sad sort of choking sound. He turned his head into the pillow just then as a coughing fit overtook him. Sam rubbed his back slowly, surprised that Dean didn't put up a huge fight to the small act of kindness. Once the coughing had subsided Dean opened his eyes wearily, they were glassy and didn't seem to focus on anything in particular.

"Bed." That was all Dean said before once again trying to push himself up into his feet.

"Let me help you," Sam said quietly. Gathering up the discarded blanket Sam wrapped an arm around Dean's waist pulling him up right. Dean swayed on the spot for a good few seconds before grabbing his stomach painfully and turning back to the toilet. He fell to his knees, hands gripping the edge of the bowl so tightly his knuckles turned white, and he puked. He hadn't eaten anything since lunch the day before and due to previous vomiting he had nothing left to expel. He dry heaved painfully, tears stinging at his eyes. He finished only to slump back into his previous position, once again shaking. Sam watched helplessly, Dean was back on the floor, back to shaking but this time he had one of his arms wrapped protectively around his head, the other around his stomach. His head was defiantly aching, Sam figured. He'd have to check for an injury once Dean was back in a bed. Maybe he had a concussion from the previous night's hunt.

'Dean, come on," Sam soothed, Dean really was sick, otherwise he would have told Sam to go chick flick it up someplace else and to leave him alone again, but he didn't this time. He moaned quietly, rocking slightly, using his arm to block out the light. Sam got up off his knees to close the blinds and turn off the lights. He once again gripped Dean around the waist and hauled him upright. Dean made no effort to help Sam; he just listed heavily against Sam, his head lulling to the side, coming to rest on Sam's shoulder. His feet dragged, his knees buckled and he almost fell again had it not been for Sam's tight grip. Sam dragged Dean out of the bathroom to the beds, he sat Dean down on his, since it was closer to the bathroom and still had the blanket and pillow on it. As soon as Sam had let go, Dean sagged down sideways, his head hitting the pillow with a slight whack. Dean moaned again, a muffled sob coming from his mouth.

"It's okay Dean, I gottcha now." It's all Sam could say to his brother at the moment; it was the only thing he could think to say to comfort him.

_To be continued_


End file.
